


Dare (ran out of truths before I met you)

by evarosen



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evarosen/pseuds/evarosen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alain's limits are very different from Ayrton's. That's just the start of the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alain's been through this already.

He doesn't think Ayrton understands; Alain doesn't want to be patronizing, but Ayrton's so very young, made even younger for all the things he hasn't lost yet, younger than Alain remembers being, even now, not that many years between them.

They're fighting, because they're almost always fighting these days, and Alain's so intent on blocking the worst of the anger, at being detached and profesional and not letting Ayrton _get_ to him that he completely fails to notice when Ayrton crowds him against the wall.

Ayrton looks down at him, utterly serious, his eyes dark and so very brilliant. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I...no, I'm not." Alain says, mildly proud on how his voice doesn't waver in the slightest. He moves to shoulder his way past Ayrton, and Ayrton presses him back for real now, making Alain's back hit the wall almost painfully.

Not his head though, because Ayrton cups the back of it, fingers digging into his curls.

"And now? Do I have you attention now?" He asks, leaning in, his breath hot on Alain's face.

And Alain's been through this too; he remembers it from the other side, _wanting_ so much he became angry, and though he doesn't think for a second that Ayrton really feels what he felt back then (confused lust mixing with admiration, and such uncertainty. He remembers that most of all).

When Ayrton kisses him is still a shock; _he_ hadn't been brave enough, perhaps wouldn't have been even now.

_This wasn't supposed to happen,_ he thinks, even as his hands grasp Ayrton just as tightly. _This can only end badly,_ it's on repeat on his head, as Ayrton pushes him down. And he goes willingly anyway.

****

It doesn't stop the clashing between them, as Alain knew it wouldn't. They don't speak of it for weeks, until Ayrton shows up on his room after Paul Ricard. 

Alain's wary of letting him; he'd been happy pretending it'd never happened, happy telling himself it wouldn't happen again.

(perhaps happy is not the word. But Ayrton's eyes had been too present on his thoughts lately to allow himself to obsess further. Better to let go now)

"What do you want?" he asks, as Ayrton shoulders his way past him, entitled as always.

Ayrton looks at him, expression unreadable for a moment, and then walks close as Alain closes the door, fingers reaching to brush teasingly at his hip.

"It was a good race," he says, voice low. 

Alain blinks at him. 

"I'm not incapable of admitting someone else deserves to win, sometimes," Ayrton says, rolling his eyes, arm slipping around Alain's waist.

"I never said you were," Alain lies, too stunned to put up more of a fight.

****

He tentatively goes to Ayrton's room after Silverstone.

He knocks and waits for a while before giving up. He tells himself he's not dissapointed; it's most definitely better this way.

He walks slowly back to his room, only to find Ayrton leaning against the wall outside.

"We went for a few drinks. I thought you'd show up, eventually, but..." he shrugs, as if it should be remotedly expected for Alain to seek him out outside...

He remembers nights out with Niki, the weight of his arm around Alain's shoulder, laughing between breathless, alcohol-flavored kisses.

He tries to picture something similar with Ayrton, and can't. 

(or won't. He can picture the end of it too clearly, unanswered phone calls mixed with friendly behaviour whenever they meet casually, nights spend awake wondering if he imagined the whole thing)

"Why would I? We're not friends, Ayrton."

Ayrton straightens up, looks him in the eye with far too much intensity for all the booze Alain can smell on him.

"No," he says carefully, "but we're teammates."

"Teammates with benefits. I bet you lot thinks you invented it." Alain says, his mouth running ahead of him as it seems to do with alarming regularity when he's with Ayrton.

Ayrton's eyes narrow at him, and he seems about to say something, so Alain pushes him inside and has _him_ against the wall for a change, kissing him until he groans against his mouth, until he pushes him down on the bed and climbs over him.

That is the last time they fuck without fighting previously.


	2. Chapter 2

"New teammate giving you trouble?" Niki asks, and Alain almost drops his glass, almost stares like a deer in headlights for a long split second before he remembers Niki's most likely just asking to be polite, that he can't read him like a book just by looking at him.

And that if he can, he'd surely find it more amusing than anything else.

"Ah...Yes, difficult one. Never quite know what he's thinking."

Alain rests his hand on the table, and Niki stands closer to him, letting his hand almost touch Alain's for a moment, before closing the distance and brushing his fingers briefly, a small gesture of reassurance, or probably a promise for later.

Alain has always gotten more of Niki than he expects; less than what he craves.

He hears his own voice on his head, _teammates with benefits_ , how bitter he had sounded to his own ears.

And no longer even that.

"But what's the fun otherwise, correct?" he says, attempting a smug smile, but that has always been Niki's area of expertise, too, smiling through the blows.

Niki looks at him searchingly, almost worried for being him, but Alain carries on smiling; he has a feeling he will be smiling like this until his face hurts all this season.

"If you say so," Niki says dubiously. He moves on, having other people claiming his attention.

Alain looks down at his hand, imagines having had the courage to turn it around, to lace his fingers with Niki's and telling him _I miss you_ and _I don't know what I'm doing_ and _I thought I'd learned not to expect anything but apparently I was wrong_ , and drinks the rest of his wine and tries not to think on anything at all.

****

Ayrton has him pinned against the door of his room; Alain has an ironic comment about him having a thing for walls he only bites back because of the fact Ayrton almost drove him into one hours before and he doesn't want this to turn into a fight all over again.

It already resembles one too much for comfort. 

_It's just a bit of fun_ , he tells himself. He's not getting attached to this unreadable, infuriating _boy_ , he's just...

"God, I want to fuck you" Ayrton murmurs against his lips, and _that_ raises Alain's alarms enough to push him away.

"No," he says, stepping back.

"Why?" Ayrton asks. His lips look swollen and his eyes are dark with lust; Alain looks away.

"I'm not a masochist, Ayrton", he says; and he should have known Ayrton would take it as a dare, because he _always_ fucking does.

****

Alain's never done _this_ with Niki, or anyone he...anyway, the raw fact is that he's never done it, so he's careful at preparing Ayrton, thorough on his ministrations.

It's more out of nervousness than anything else, although he can tell Ayrton was mostly expecting to be thown face down on the matress and the whole thing to be done with. Alain idly wonders if that's what _he_ intended to do, if he really doesn't care so much or simply thinks Alain doesn't.

If he really thinks so little of him.

"You said it would hurt," Ayrton whispers almost in a betrayed tone as Alain carefully pushes inside him, slow, measured thrusts, searching for the sweet spot. He cries out, grasping back to dig his nails on Alain's knee, as if resenting it would bring him pleasure. "Oh! Oh, don't stop..."

And Alain wants to say _It's not what I meant_ , but Ayrton is moving beneath him, making him lose the train of his thoughts; and _he_ shouldn't be dwelling on it, either, anyway.

It won't happen again, he tells himself as they dress themselves after, carefully not looking at each other. It can only end badly.

****

It happens again.

****

It's almost schizophrenic, how Ayrton can spend days, weeks even without talking to him, and then suddenly seeming to find a subject he apparently wants to elaborate on so much that he would talk of it for hours on end, even to Alain.

Alain tries not to zone out, he really does (mostly because the last silent treatment spell had been going so long he was beginning to think he'd forgotten the sound of Ayrton's voice), but there's only so much any man can listen about the complexities of the cars Fangio used to race compared to the present ones, even if said man also happens to race for a living.

Alain thinks back on his own marathonic conversations with Niki, mostly one-sided, and feels retroactively mortified.

Then he remembers the methods Niki used to employ to shut him up, and can't help but inwardly smile at the ridiculous notion of using them on Ayrton.

Or not so inwardly, it seems, as Ayrton snaps his fingers in front of Alain's face, looking angry. He seems to have stopped talking in the last few seconds, too.

"If I'm boring you, you just have to say so," he says, his eyes going darker with resentment.

"What? No, I was, I was listening." Alain says, trying to look convincing.

"You were." Ayrton says flatly. "So you think Fangio's co-pilot dying is smile-worthy."

Alain opens his mouth, and closes it again. 

Busted.

"I'm sorry," he says at last. 

He braces himself for another tantrum, another week of indignant glances, perhaps a push as Ayrton storms out on him.

But Ayrton merely stares at him for a long moment, not even asking what Alain had gotten distracted over. 

He touches Alain's head, fingers pressing against his scalp as if he wanted to find out what lay under it by touch.

"I wish _I_ could ignore you," he says finally, voice calm and earnest.

He clenches his fingers, brieftly pulling on Alain's hair before letting him go.

Alain opens his mouth, about to protest he's not the one who seems to view his teammate as an obstacle to be run over and discarted after, but Ayrton just shakes his head at him and goes to talk with his mechanics instead.

 _We're not friends,_ he reminds himself.

Soon they become enemies.


End file.
